


I Hope that I Don't Fall in Love with You

by shortystylee



Series: A Series of Song One-Shots [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 04:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12403215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/pseuds/shortystylee
Summary: They say you need to branch out, spread your wings, to meet people. Maybe you just need to sit at the same spot in your local dive bar for long enough?Based on the Tom Wait's song, with a little less of a downer ending.





	I Hope that I Don't Fall in Love with You

He notices her walk in from where he’s already sitting at the bar. He’s not trying; the door is just in his line of sight. Friday nights are usually crowded, even at a dive bar like this, but it seems more packed than usual tonight. He wonders if there is a concert or something else going on tonight to bring people downtown.

 

“You saw that one come in, didn’t ya, Gendry?” The bartender, Lem, asks him. Gendry might be a regular at this dive, but he’s known Lem longer than he’s been occupying this bar stool, almost as long as he can remember.

 

“Who? Her? What’s the big deal?” he shrugged.

 

“Just don’t go fallin’ in love with her,” Lem warns him.

 

“I’ve never even met her!” He rolls his eyes at his friend, but Gendry knew this conversation was coming. It’s one they’ve had a million times, probably second to only when they argue about who’s the best player on the Stormlands rugby team. He takes a drink to try and look preoccupied to get out of what’s coming next.

Lem walks over, wadding up the towel he’s holding and throwing it down on the bar in front of Gendry, before crossing his arms across his chest, giving Gendry the most serious look he knows his friend can muster. “How long have we known each other?”

 

“Come off it, you know how long we’ve known each other.”

 

“How. Long. Have we known each other?”

 

_Might as well play along then_. “Since we were fifteen, so almost twenty years.”

 

“Right. And in those twenty years, I’ve seen you fall for so many mystery dream girls, that if I had a buck for each one of ‘em I could probably live in the penthouse suite at the top of The Red Keep, instead that shitty walk-up I’m in.”

 

“What can I say? Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic.”

 

“Hopeless in general,” Lem replies, as he picks up the damp towel and tosses it at Gendry, then goes back to mixing some drinks at the back counter.

 

The bar makes a left turn about six stools down from him, and as he takes another drink of beer, he looks to see her leaning between two couples, forearms on the bar. She’s wearing a spotless white button down, sleeves cuffed just above her elbows, and the top two buttons undone, enough to get you interested but not really show anything. Her hair was pulled back in a complicated braid when she came in, but she’s pulled most of it out since then, leaving her with mousey brown hair that was celebrating its independence from the braid by wildly going any which way it pleased. It looked to Gendry like she’d just been in a convertible on the highway, or a roller coaster, or…

 

“Sweet mother, that hair makes her look like she was properly fucked, don’t it?” _Great, Lem’s back_. “Whadda ya think she does in that outfit? Lawyer? Librarian? Tell ya what though, I’d rather see what she can do out of it, get what I mean, Gendry?” Lem was on the other side of the bar now, picking up glasses that people at left at the booths, and he elbowed him, winking as if Gendry really had to be clued in on what he was insinuating.

 

“Stop being a creep, Lem. Shouldn’t you go take her drink order instead of talking to me?” They both look over and catch her looking at them. She confidently nods her head up once, and Lem winks again at Gendry before walking back around to the other side of the counter to take her order.

 

He shifts in his seat once Lem is gone, off talking to the woman that he’ll probably never get a chance to say two words to. In his mind, he knows that it doesn’t _technically_ count that Lem is chatting her up – it’s his job as the bartender to be friendly, make himself some better tips – but it still eats at him just a little bit.

 

After a moment, once he realizes that if he keeps on looking over her way he’ll either have to go talk to her, or end up just looking like a maniac, so he eases himself into a light conversation with the two men to his left, both arguing about what is probably his favorite topic to argue about: rugby.

 

Sometime later, he notices a pack of cigarettes she’s got set on the counter, even though it’s been illegal to smoke inside the bars for a few years now. For a second, he’s almost getting out of his stool, daydreaming about walking over, bumming one off her and asking if she wants to go outside with him for a smoke. Maybe once they were outside it’d be easier, he wouldn’t stumble over his words under pressure from the stares of the couple sitting next to her, watching a hapless stranger attempting to pick up a pretty lady in a bar on a Friday night, a scene which he is sure is happening simultaneously across hundreds of bars in Westeros at that very moment.

 

_That’s it. Bum a smoke, invite her outside, ask her what she’s doing in a shithole like this. She’ll laugh, and agree that it is sort of shitty, maybe joke about how she just doesn’t have anywhere better to be. I’ll make some offhand remark about how my apartment is kinda shitty too, but it’s only two blocks away, and it’s a hell of a lot less crowded._

 

He had one foot down on the floor, ready to make that leap, when a very different scene flashed before his eyes – sophomore year of high school, hiding out under the bleachers during gym class, attempting to smoke a cigarette one of his friends nicked out of the pocket of their chemistry teacher’s jacket, then coughing so hard he threw up his lunch and having to wait in the nurse’s room for his foster father to come pick him up.

 

_Oh, yes, that’d be ideal. Impress her with your coughing, wheezing and your skills at how quickly you can get your inhaler out of your pocket._

 

After that plan is crushed, his phone buzzes in his pocket and he unlocks it to see that one of his work buddies is coming to join him at the bar in a few, the same as most Fridays. Hot Pie, or Hank, as they grudgingly call him at work, usually shows up around eleven-thirty for a round or two, before heading home. They’ve been friends since the first day Gendry started working at the advertising agency, and have stayed friends in the twelve years since then as he’s made his way up the ladder from design intern to assistant director of their design department. Hot Pie’s easy to talk to, and usually has some weird piece of trivia to educate Gendry with, or random information that for some unknown reason he knows, but he’s somehow still managing to bore Gendry tonight. Hot Pie is oblivious to the fact that his friend’s attention is elsewhere, and still continues to talk about some rare facts about the ancient Lhazareen sheep herders.

 

_Why is she here, anyways_? _And alone_ , he wondered. _This isn’t the type of bar you go to on a date. Shit, I sure wouldn’t take her here… Maybe one of those Steel Street art expos, dinner at that new Meereenese place all the girls in accounting keep talking about, then drinks someplace nice… Dracarys, after I’d saved two month’s salary to pay for their cocktails. A walk down by the bay… the Blackwater and the boardwalk are still surprisingly nice for this time of –_

 

“Hey, Gen? Pal? Something the matter?” Hot Pie asked. _Crap. Not as oblivious as I’d hoped._

 

“Oh, nothing. Just a hard day at work, especially for a damned Friday. Ya know, upper management has really been on my ass about this new Targaryen Air campaign…”

 

They commiserated about work for about ten more minutes, before Hot Pie paid his tab and made his way home, saying he had to get some sleep and wake up early to take his kids to their indoor soccer game. After that, he really tried to take his mind off her. She’d started a lively conversation with two women who had sat down next to her, which meant it was a very inopportune time for him to try and talk to her anyways. The sports channel was playing on the TV behind the bar, and he let himself get lost in watching the replays of the past week’s games for a while, ordered his last beer, used his coat to save his barstool while he went to the bathroom, then came back to finish his drink before Lem kicked everyone out.

 

It took him a minute or two to realize something different.

 

“Where’d she go?”

 

“Oh, dream girl? Left a few minutes ago, probably when you were in the toilet. Alone, if that makes you feel better.”

 

“Why’d you let her leave?”

 

“Sorry, man. Didn’t know I was supposed to be your assistant on this one,” Lem replied.

 

“Shit. I was gonna talk to her.”

 

“Were you now?” Lem asked. He was walking back and forth between the back counter and the front, cleaning up messes that people had made throughout the night. “She probably got tired of your puppy dog eye stares after three hours. It’s one-thirty already, Gen.”

 

Gendry looked around and noticed that the bar had emptied out, save for a couple of regular, and nodded as he finished the last of his drink, then gathered up a couple other glasses that Lem hadn’t gotten yet. He pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket, leaving cash on the counter for his tab.

 

“Oi, Gendry,” Lem called. He was wiping down the side of the bar where she’d been sitting. “Looks like there’s something here for you... Aww, well ain’t that sweet. Your dream girl left you a note. Good to know there’s at least one pair of balls between that two of you.”

 

“Don’t joke about that crap, Lem, it’s too late for that,” he replied, standing up to put his jacket on.

 

“Not joking, man. Left a note for you on top of her tip. See for yourself,” he replied, sliding a folded piece of paper across the bar. “Good tipper, too.”

 

“’Dear bartender, please give this to your friend, the hot guy in the Stormlands rugby polo’,” Gendry read out loud. He unfolded the note, but kept the contents to himself.

 

**From the desk of Arya L. Stark**

**Adjunct Professor, University of Westeros**

**Dept. of Essosi Linguistics**

 

_Couldn’t help but notice you looking at me all night, thought maybe you’d want this._

_209-712-3132_

_Arya_

_P.S. You won’t regret it, I promise._

 

He tried not to smile too much as he read the note a second time, and then a third, but he could tell by the look Lem gave him when he finally looked up, that he had failed miserably.

 

“Thanks, Lem,” he said as he turned to leave.

 

“Don’t mention it. See ya next week.”

 

He folded the paper back up in to the neat square it originally was, slid it into his wallet, then pushed open the front door, letting himself out onto the street. _No, Arya Stark, I don’t think I’ll regret this at all._


End file.
